


Dance for You

by steggyisimmortal



Series: Shield and Gun [14]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Justine called me Satan, OMG so many feels, sorry for the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 05:22:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13495766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steggyisimmortal/pseuds/steggyisimmortal
Summary: She picked it up.  She hesitated for a moment before opening it.  Most everything else in the box didn’t hold a deep personal meaning.  She understood why the boys took it but those possessions didn’t encompass Steve’s spirit.  His sketchbook did.  He drew everything he could – his home, his friends, the places he’d been, small items that amused him, little silly drawings he always told her he was saving for later.  Her.This was the true Steve Rogers.  This was where his heart lie.  It was easy for this material to be swept aside by the image of Captain America.  The public only saw the brave, daring man who did anything to fight for justice.  They didn’t see the vulnerability or his sense of compassion.  They weren’t supposed to.





	Dance for You

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the lines: _"In my mind all I can think about is a frame for our future and the pictures of the past and a chance to make this love last"_

Dugan glanced at the rows of footlockers.  All abandoned.  No owners to come collect them or their contents.  In the end, this was all it was.  A few possessions crammed into a thirty-inch box twelve inches deep.  Books, socks, shoes, cards, letters, dirty pictures, keepsakes – all without owners to come and take them home. 

 

He walked down the rows, taking the time to make sure he read the name in its entirety.  He didn’t know most of the men.  Probably walked among most of them on a daily basis; rescued some of them. 

 

A whistle caught his attention.  He turned to see Gabe a few feet away from him.  Falsworth stood at the other side of a locker.

 

“Found it.”

 

Dugan nodded sadly.  “Grab it and let’s get out before anyone notices.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Do we open it?” Gabe wondered. "Before we hand it off?"

 

“Why would we open it?”  Falsworth replied, tapping the top of the box despite his words.

 

“I don’t know,” Gabe shrugged.  “What if he left something for us?  A message or something.”

 

“He didn’t know he was gonna do it.  Why would he leave something for us?”

 

“I left something for you guys in _mine_ ,” Gabe said softly.  “And for you guys to give to my mama.  If I died.”

 

The team paused in the movements and glanced at each other around the room. 

 

“Well, you’re not dead so burn it,” Dugan said at last.  “We got lucky, fellas.  No need to dwell on what never happened.”

 

“Okay, but he could still have something in there we don’t want her to see.  Steve’s the kinda guy that would write a letter every day until it was perfect.”

 

“Either way we gotta have stuff for the decoy so we gotta go through it,” Morita gave the group a pointed look.  “We know he has some stuff in there we don’t want anyone else seein’.”

 

“Shit, you’re right.”  Dugan poked at the lock, wondering if he should shoot it off or hack it off.  He muttered a curse before grabbing a nearby hammer.

 

“Stop it, you animal,” Falsworth said.  “I have the key right here.”

 

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” he grumbled, opening the locker in a quick flick of his wrist. 

 

Extra pairs of socks, books, cigarette rations, cards, letters, Steve’s dress uniform greeted their eyes.  It was unnerving to see the remnants of a man that would never again greet his possessions with joy.  Falsworth would never get to bargain for Steve’s cigarettes in poker games.  Steve wouldn’t get to annoy them with strategies from one of his books.  They wouldn’t get to look at the pictures from the ladies that sent him letters or listen to Steve read another letter from a kid back home. 

 

“There it is.”

 

Dugan saw what Morita was pointing to and grasped it in his meaty hand.  He let out a soft gasp at the electric shock that passed through his hand, the storage room suddenly transforming into a popup camp that was more familiar than home. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“I’m tellin’ you she was makin’ eyes at me,” Bucky said for close to the millionth time.

 

“Yeah, keep tellin’ yourself that pal,” Morita said.  “And that lady wanted to marry me because I’m such a catch.”

 

“Yeah, it wasn’t at all because she thought he was her ticket to Hollywood.”

 

Falsworth and Dugan left the bickering behind them.  Steve had his back to them hunched over a table.  Right where they left him when they went out for drinks almost three hours ago.

 

“Hiya, Steve,” Dugan said, slapping him on the back.  “Sure missed a great time.  Almost had Buck dancing on the tables this time.”

 

Steve chuckled but didn’t look up from his sketchbook.  Dugan peered over his shoulder. 

 

“What’d you do in the absence of our lovely presence?” Falsworth asked.  “As if we didn’t know.”

 

“Had coffee with Agent Carter in the mess hall during her break.  Been here ever since.”

 

Of course.

 

He wasn’t a terribly loquacious man when he was drawing.  It was rare to get him to string more than four words together when he had an idea on his brain.  Spending time with the beautiful Agent Carter would have put a day’s worth of ideas in his head, Dugan was sure.

 

He looked at the book filled with lines and conversation bubbles.  He could see the beginning of the familiar curves of Agent Carter.  He was very familiar with those curves in charcoal and lead.

 

“Is this that same book from months ago?”

 

Steve nodded.  His hand effortlessly sketched out the dress uniform. 

 

“You ever gonna do anything with this book or is it just for our eyes?  Not that I don’t love seein’ the lovely agent but I don’t see much of me in it so I’m not that invested.”

 

Falsworth slapped Dugan’s arm lightly.  “The only reason he lets us see it is because you all have no sense of privacy.”

 

“I have to see your ugly faces so much I’m startin’ to forget what my own looks like.  I can’t help but to see it.”

 

“I’ll do something with it someday,” Steve answered over their bickering.  He finally looked up at them.  He had that same dazed look he always had after spending a few minutes with the agent.  “It has to be perfect first.  And I have to wait until the war’s over.  Then she might say yes.”

 

Falsworth and Dugan shared a look. 

 

Steve was tight lipped about the book.  Even Bucky couldn’t pull it out of him but they’d all seen him sketching in it enough to guess at the topic.  Scenes slowly started to morph together.  One page became five.  Scratched out scenes were drawn again with the right vision.  Words were thought over meticulously, rehearsed endlessly, before being immortalized on the priceless pages. 

 

Dugan glanced at the scene again, Steve’s attention already devoted to it again.  Falsworth rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

 

“She’s gonna say yes, Captain,” Falsworth assured him.

 

“Yeah,” Dugan agreed, “that rock will help seal the deal if that book doesn’t.”

 

Steve’s chuckle mingled with Falsworth’s sigh of resignation. 

 

“He doesn’t even need either one of them.  She’ll say yes because it’s him.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Dugan broke out of his revere to see Morita pointing at something else before answering Jones’ question.  Shaking his head, Dugan grabbed the book to find an identical one beneath it.  He opened the top one to see its contents before selecting the right book.  He handed it to Morita before handing the other book to Falsworth. 

 

They transferred a few more items, jostling everything around to make it look like less calculated.  Dugan took a last look around before moving to close the lid.

 

“Wait.”

 

Dugan looked up in question at Falsworth but the man didn’t say anything more.  He glanced around confused before remembering.  He rummaged through the contents again before settling his hand over a small box.  He clasped it tightly in his large hand before firmly shutting the lid of the locker. 

 

Falsworth and Jones put the locker back among the rows of many.

 

Dugan looked down at the box in his hand for a long moment.  He could still see Steve’s face when he came back from France with it. 

 

“I never thought this is where it’d end,” Jones said.

 

Dugan couldn’t agree more.  He patted the locker before standing.  He took a look around at the men.  His friends.  Only a man like Steve Rogers could unite this rough bunch of men and turn them into friends.  More than that.  He turned them into family.

 

He cleared his throat, the sound harsher than normal.

 

“Let’s take him home, fellas.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Peggy skimmed another folder before adding it to the growing pile. 

 

The SSR was packing up and shipping out.  Mission complete.  War won.  Job over.

 

Peggy sincerely hoped her job wasn’t finished yet.  After years of feeling like she was in a holding pattern she finally found what she was good at, something she could make a difference doing.  With the war coming to an end, the men would return home and women would be expected to hand over jobs and return to the home.

 

Peggy was adamant that wouldn’t happen to her.

 

Luckily, she had some pull with Phillips.  Still, it would take days to hear back if her transfer was accepted or not.  She was trying not to get her hopes up too high, however.  She knew the odds were strong she’d go back to being treated as nothing more than a secretary. 

 

She sighed and look at the stack of folders in front of her.  She was no better than a secretary right now.

 

She rolled her eyes at herself, disgusted with her own self depreciation.  She had asked for this work.  Phillips acquiesced quickly when she’d asked to be kept busy.  It was the only way to keep her mind off him. 

 

It wasn’t working.

 

She was sorting through files of missions completed by the Howling Commandos, deciding which ones required the red tape and which ones didn’t, making sure they were all there.  Her security clearance made her the sole candidate for the job aside from Phillips.  A double agent had been found within the SOE the week before last.  He had several folders of top secret intelligence on his person when his superiors arrested him on grounds of suspicious behavior.  The SSR wasn’t taking any chances. 

 

But it was painful to go through the memories of the past few years and be reminded of all the men that would never return to their families.  It was painful to be reminded of Steve with every flip of a page. 

 

She rested her hands over her face.  She would not cry.  She was tired of crying.  It didn’t solve anything.  It just gave her a headache and made her congested. 

 

“Ow! Son of a bitch, Morita! What the hell!”

 

“Pick up the pace, fat head.”

 

Peggy jumped at the intrusion of her sanctuary.  She chided herself for losing awareness of her surroundings, but she was happy to hear the voices of her friends.  She looked up to find them, but she was still alone in the room.  She could hear their bickering in the hallway.  She smiled at the familiar sound it.  It was a relief to know some things hadn’t changed.

 

She heard a solid thud before she saw the men filter into the room, Dugan at the front with Falsworth taking up the rear.

 

“Evening, Peg,” Dugan tipped his hat.

 

“To what do I owe the pleasure, boys?” she said, trying to keep her voice chipper like she hadn’t just been on the verge of tears. 

 

She looked at them expectantly, waiting for a joke or a story as they usually had one waiting for her since the crash, only to notice five somber faces staring back at her.  Dernier kept his eyes on his shoes.  Jones had that same sad grimace he’d been wearing for a week.  Morita fidgeted with his hands while Dugan shuffled his own about in his pockets.  Only Falsworth kept her gaze for longer than a second.

 

“What is it?” she asked.  She gave a dry chuckle.  “Surely there isn’t more bad news though I suppose now is the time to hear it.”

 

 Falsworth passed a look at Jones and Dernier who filed out of the room in quick order. 

 

“It’s not really bad news,” Dugan answered.

 

“It’s not news at all,” Falsworth clarified.  “More of a gesture, really.”

 

“We’ll take it back if you want us to,” Morita chimed in. “We just didn’t want to see them take it.  Didn’t feel right.”

 

“What are you boys talki- ”

 

Jones and Dernier walked in with a long wooden box.  Her mouth hung open questioningly until the realization hit her.  Steve’s footlocker. 

 

She stared at the closed lid, her posture rigid.  She clenched her hands tightly together.  It was unnerving to see the life of one man stuffed inside such a small box.  All his worldly possessions waiting for him to come back and be used. 

 

“Everything’s in there,” Jones said.

 

“All his books.”

 

“His uniform.”

 

“Those damn busted socks he would never throw away.”

 

“His medals.”

 

Her head snapped up.  They continued to prattle on but she couldn’t hear them anymore. 

 

He hated it every time he received a medal.  He always said that wasn’t why he was in a war – to win medals.  He put them in his footlocker every time.  Phillips had to remind him he was supposed to fashion them on his dress uniform.  Peggy always thought he looked dapper with them.  They reminded her of all the missions he’d fought and all the men he’d saved.  They reminded her of every time he came home alive.

 

She hated that she wouldn’t be watching him walk through the door this time.

 

“His sketchbook is in there, too.” Morita’s voice broke through her melancholy.  “That was one thing we couldn’t let them take no matter what.”

 

He loved his sketchbook.  He was so secretive with it and yet he carried it everywhere.  The only place he couldn’t take it was in the field.  Then he made do with whatever he found. 

 

She opened the lid of the box, the gesture halting but necessary for her piece of mind.  This was all she had of him now.  This and her stolen picture. 

 

It was all there just as they’d said.  Neatly organized in sections, surprising her because Steve wasn’t known for his tidiness when it came to his belongings.  His books were all lined up on one side with his spare clothes beside it.  His dress uniform was neatly folded according to army protocol with his medals stacked up on top of it.  His socks – both fresh and damaged – were keeping his unused cigarettes company.  She suspected Dugan would ask for a pack.  He usually ended up winning them in the poker games anyhow.

 

There.  His sketchbook. 

 

She picked it up.  She hesitated for a moment before opening it.  Most everything else in the box didn’t hold a deep personal meaning.  She understood why the boys took it but those possessions didn’t encompass Steve’s spirit.  His sketchbook did.  He drew everything he could – his home, his friends, the places he’d been, small items that amused him, little silly drawings he always told her he was saving for later.  Her. 

 

This was the true Steve Rogers.  This was where his heart lie.  It was easy for this material to be swept aside by the image of Captain America.  The public only saw the brave, daring man who did anything to fight for justice.  They didn’t see the vulnerability or his sense of compassion.  They weren’t supposed to. 

 

She shut the book.  Her fingers ran over the cover.  It was nothing special.  Just a dark blue leather cover with no words on the front.  It was worn and soft from being handled so much. 

 

She looked up at her friends to find their eyes on her.  She gave them a soft, reassuring smile.

 

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of this fic are based on this post I made some time ago: http://steggyisimmortal.tumblr.com/post/137778049674/ultimately-steves-proposal-to-peggy-would


End file.
